


Free as a Bird

by DracoLikesHamsters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Birds, British things, But so many references to birds, Draco is a dumbass, Drinking, Gay, I mean only kind of - Freeform, Jealousy, Like stop, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please Forgive me, Rhyming, Well only one bird, Wishes, again only kind of, it will make sense I promise, obviously, so many birds - Freeform, that I know nothing about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoLikesHamsters/pseuds/DracoLikesHamsters
Summary: Draco has never been happy with his life, and now that Harry bloody Potter truly has it all, he is even more discontented.He just wants everything to be simpler. He wants all the insults, the judgment, and the hatred to just go away. He wants to be free. Free from his world, with all its hero-worship and We're-Not-Dead parties. Too bad that freedom comes with a trap of its own. But maybe Draco will learn to enjoy his gilded cage?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 3





	1. One for Sorrow

Draco was so tired. He hated it all. The stinging hexes that never seemed to have a caster, the snide comments and endless whispers, and the occasional one-sided fight. He was done with it all. Done with everyone. Especially Potter.

God, Potter. From the beginning, the infuriating man had stolen everything that should have been his. The friends, the admirers, the fame, the money, the attention, the adoration, his dream job, and his happiness. They could have shared it, done it all together. If only Potter had taken his hand in first year, everything would have been right. God, he was so pathetic.

And drunk.

And his reason for getting smashed was even more pathetic. That article, with Potter looking all heroic, wise, and just plain good. It was enough to make anyone gag, but with him, it instilled a deep, burning rage, accompanied by an intense sense of envy. He should have been on the front page, not that righteous prick. He was a Malfoy, and before this Dark Lord-war-Potter business, that had meant a glittering life full of glamor, prestige, and endless lovers. He would have married the best of the best, stayed in the manor forever, and never have had to work a day in his life. Now, he would be lucky if anyone wanted to marry a hopeless pariah. The manor had been seized by the ministry, and he wouldn't work because Potter had taken the one job he wanted, and Draco wasn't about to be his colleague. At least he was still rich.

Merlin, sometimes he hated magic with a passion. Sure, it was a tool of great use, but was it worth the never-ending iterations of Dark Lords they would have to face? Before Lord Voldemort, there was Grindelwald. Before him, there were others, and so too would there be more after. Things would be so different if magic didn't exist. But would it be better or worse? Draco honestly had no clue. He had never once had to live without magic. All he knew was that everything certainly would be less complicated.

A little bird flew up to him, perching on the railing he was sagged against, the night breeze ruffling his hair and its plain brown feathers. His drink was caught in a dangerously loose grip, threatening to shatter on the ground two stories down at any moment. The bird canted its head, staring at him with an unimpressed glare.

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm a disappointment, no need to rub it in," he slurred at it. It contemplated him for a moment, then hopped closer. Draco smiled a drunken grin that crookedly stretched across his face. He lifted a finger to stroke it, and to his surprise, the bird allowed it. It closed its striking amber eyes, cutting off the dull glow. Draco smoothed the feathers down for a few moments, before beginning to voice his thoughts. It was nice to have something to talk to, even if it was only a songbird.

"You're quite a pretty thing, aren't you? You probably don't have to worry about magical nonsense. Hell, you've probably never seen magic before. You want to see?" Draco tugged his wand out of his pocket, casting a simple charm to conjure a puff of smoke. The avian looked alarmed for a second, and Draco stupidly realized that smoke in nature often meant fire and danger. But this bird was curious, and after a moment, it pecked at the wand. He smiled fondly at it.

"You want to know something else?" Draco leaned in to whisper to the bird conspiratorially. "I don't like magic anymore. I wish I were a muggle, sometimes." He straighted, suddenly realizing that everything was a million times harder while inebriated. He was even seeing things, now. The bird's eyes were glowing brighter than before, almost like the sun shining through amber rather than candlelight. Maybe it was time to stop with the drinks.

He slid down the bars that kept him from falling, looping his arms around his knees and hugging them to his chest, wine glass still loosely grasped. Draco smiled when the bird followed, landing gracefully in front of him. But, wait- was the bird- was it changing? It was! The feathers were becoming longer, blacker, almost pearlescent, like an oil slick on the pavement. Some of the plumes turned white instead, especially those near the wings. The tail elongated until it was nearly twice as long as the bird itself. Its eyes were still amber, but now they were covetous and calculating.

A magpie. Draco watched in confusion as the bird gave him what, in his drunken haze, looked awfully like a beaky grin. Then, it let out a single, sharp call, and flew right at him.

Draco yelped and scrambled back, but the railing of the balcony prevented him from moving anywhere. He sluggishly threw up his arms to protect his face, accidentally flinging the glass off the balcony, but the magpie had a different target. Though he couldn't see it through his hands, he felt the sharp claws pierce his shirt and the skin over his heart, leaving four shallow but painful puncture wounds.

Then, he heard the rustling of wings and the magpie was gone. Draco slowly lowered his arms, warily looking about in case it decided to come back. It didn't.

Cursing, Draco rubbed his chest over his shirt. The gray material had been torn beyond repair, which was a shame because it was his favorite outfit. Draco raised his fingers to eye level to check for blood, turning the digits in an effort to catch the light.

Instead of crimson blood, a dark silver liquid stained his fingers.

He glanced down in panic, only to see the material damp and dark with the metallic substance. Draco looked around frantically, but there was no one within miles he could go to for help, that list being limited to his mother, Pansy, and Blaise, and he never apparated whilst drunk. It was just asking to get splinched.

The world lurched to the side, and Draco suddenly felt like his sense of equilibrium had deserted him. His body felt light, but also like there was a massive weight crushing his head. His thoughts were even foggier than before, beyond the level of mere drunkenness...

And suddenly, with a strong bout of nausea, Draco Malfoy slumped to the side and passed out.

~

Magpies are said to predict the future; the number in which they appear is the variable that decides whether that fortune will be good or bad. One magpie is said to be a bad omen, while in any other number they are usually good.

On the other hand, magpies are risk-takers. They are not afraid to tempt predators, earning respect. If you see a magpie, you are not afraid of taking a chance.

Magpies are one of the most intelligent species of birds, and they can even recall the faces of people and remember whether those people are safe or harmful. Magpies often mate for life.

Lastly, magpies are best known for their thievery of shiny objects. They covet valuables - gold, silver, jewelry - and only the brightest things capture their attention.

~

Draco groaned. His head was throbbing, an immediate and intense reprimand for his poor choices. When he opened his eyes, the blinding rays of the sun seared through his brain, making everything so much worse. He sat there for at least fifteen minutes, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright afternoon light, then struggling to get to his feet, his body swaying precariously.

After he had regained the ability to walk - tricky thing, really - he made his way inside, feeling vaguely nauseous. As Draco passed through his bedroom, something felt off, as if someone had moved his furniture ever so slightly out of place. The impending sensation that he was about to vomit prevented him from investigating further, however, and he lurched into the bathroom just in time.

As he came out a couple of minutes later, feeling somewhat better, the change to his room suddenly made itself obvious. His most prized possession and his favorite pastime, his ridiculously expensive professional brewing kit, was not in its place. And considering just how heavy and unwieldy the thing was, it was very unlikely that someone had moved it just for amusement. Besides that, no one had visited him in days.

It was very possible that there had been a burglary in his flat. The first thing Draco did was check the door. Surprisingly, it was still locked and bore no sign of having been forced open. Still, that didn't rule out theft. It just increased the likelihood that the robber had magic on his side, a suspicious occurrence for a muggle neighborhood.

Draco stood still, at a loss for what to do next. He couldn't call the muggle police - they wouldn't find any evidence if it were a wizard, not to mention the fact that he wouldn't be able to explain everything about his missing object. Nor could he call the Aurors, because that was just asking for trouble. It was no use trying to find the thief himself either - Draco had limited access to magic and knew very little about tracking spells anyway. He scowled. He loved that potion kit. It was one of the few things he still enjoyed doing. There was nothing for it, he would have to get a new one.

Still frowning, Draco made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. This was far too much excitement for one morning, especially when he had drunk his way through half of his good wine the night before. He finished making the tea, and the bird from last night spontaneously popped into his head. Draco scowled. Just see if he would ever be nice to a bird again! Sighing, he removed his shirt, grimacing at the ruined material, and looked down at his new wound. Or, where his wound would have been had it not disappeared.

In fact, if it weren't for the silvery stain on his shirt, the previous night could very well have been a figment of his imagination. At least he probably wasn't going insane. Yet. Just as Draco finished pulling on a fresh pair of trousers, there was a thump by the front door.

He froze. Was the robber back? He looked around for his wand then, not seeing it, decided it wouldn't be much help anyway. Draco carefully poked his head around the corner and saw a newspaper and some envelopes on the floor just inside his flat. The mail slot was still swinging. He relaxed and went to retrieve the pile, wondering when he had subscribed to the muggle papers.

He glanced at the title: Crown Prince Still Missing: Nationwide Search Goes On. Draco scoffed. The matters of muggles were nothing to him. He faintly recalled, however, that there was no crown prince; the royal family only had daughters. Maybe he was remembering it wrong. In any case, it didn't matter to him.

Draco had an infuriatingly unproductive morning. He couldn't find his wand; his fireplace wasn't working, so he couldn't floo anyone (his floo powder was missing too), and the permanent warming charm in his apartment failed. He couldn't even redo it without his wand. He tried wandlessly summoning the useless piece of wood, but he failed, of course. In the end, Draco decided to go out, hoping in vain that everything would fix itself while he was gone.

He stormed out into the hall, locking his flat behind him. Draco went down the stairs, pulling up his hood as he exited into the rain. He scowled, cursing Potter and every witch and wizard that had voted to restrain his magic. It was too flaky now; magic was already fickle and limiting his control over it did not help in the slightest.

Draco kicked a pebble, glowering at all the people whispering and staring at him. He was in muggle London, for Merlin's sake, there shouldn't be so many people looking at him. Yes, he was beautiful and rich and famous - now infamous - but that was in the Wizarding World. The muggles' attention was entirely unwarranted.

He stomped into a small, but chic bar near his flat. It would not do to be found far from home without his wand, especially by a wizard. He would have a drink, settle his nerves, and return to his apartment with a level head to look for his wand. Then, he would dig out some old apothecary catalogs and find himself a new brewing set.

One step at a time, he thought. Buy a drink first.

He ordered a fine rosé - Draco despised any kind of alcohol other than wine. Maybe he was playing into the prissy pureblood stereotype, but he simply had no taste for the cruder, common spirits. Merlin, beer was the absolute worst of the lot.

The bartender did a double-take when he saw Draco, and that did nothing to improve his mood. Why did everyone suddenly recognize him? It wasn't like he had been front-page news!

The longer he stayed there, the antsier he became. Draco could feel the stares boring into his back, could almost hear the whispered conversations. He could even visualize perfectly the fingers pointed at him, mouths hidden by hands whispering to friends rapidly. It was all too familiar.

Draco stood in a rush. He threw down some muggle money - he did not care to count out his change at the moment - and strode out of the bar at a fast clip.

"Excuse me," a hand shot out to stop him. Draco lifted his eyes to see a man wearing dark sunglasses, clad in a black suit and wearing some device that connected to his ear. Behind him stood three more men that looked nearly identical. The overall effect would have been intimidating to anyone but a Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I'm afraid my orders are to take you back to the palace."


	2. Two for Joy

"Highness? Me?" Draco asked, confused, and more than a little suspicious. The mysterious man didn't stop to elaborate. He clamped a large hand around Draco's shoulder and steered him out of the door. There was a massive limousine waiting right outside - it was so long that it practically stretched from one end of the block to the other. The black-suited man pushed him firmly - but not roughly - through the open car door and slid in after.

Draco took a seat as far away as he could. The large man grinned knowingly at him, but Draco figured if there were ever a time to be petty, it was while he was being kidnapped.

Draco was planning on staying silent out of spite, but that was not conducive to finding out what the hell was going on. "What do you want with me?" he demanded.

The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I want nothing, Your Highness. Your father, on the other hand, wishes you to return. His Majesty believes it is high time you, ah, reconsidered your resolution to leave."

Draco got the feeling if "he" didn't come back, his "father" would force him to. Draco was sure he would at least have some very compelling reasons. Actually, this was sounding remarkably like Lucius.

Enough was enough. Draco was not some kind of royalty, no matter that his actual father insisted that they were related to the Tudors, the only British royal house to have magical blood.

"I am not 'His Highness,' whoever that may be," Draco insisted.

"Oh?" The man sounded like he did not believe him. "You are not His Royal Highness Draco Lucius Malfoy II, heir to the British throne?"

Despite his patrician upbringing, Draco's mouth fell open. Under the other man's scrutiny, he hastily shut it. "I am Draco Malfoy, but I am most certainly not the prince, nor royalty of any kind."

"I know that is what you wish, Your Highness, but you have a responsibility to the kingdom. You cannot renounce your title as you tried a week ago. It is simply not done," the man informed him calmly, removing his dark sunglasses. His face was plain, forgettable, with absolutely no defining features. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin, but not too pale - he was utterly average in terms of appearances.

Draco studied him for a moment, then decided to switch tactics. "Who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Feigning amnesia, are we? You can't convince me you don't remember the head of the Royalty and Specialist Protection."

So this was a very important man. It would be in Draco's best interest not to piss him off, but since when did he do things that were in his best interest? "To be perfectly frank, I have never met you in my life. What is your name?"

He scowled in annoyance. "Fine. I'll play your game, Your Highness. My name is Charles Walters, and I'm in charge of keeping the royal family safe, of course. Especially bratty heirs that make a habit of running off into the seedier parts of London, as if my job isn't hard enough." Walters gave him a pointed scowl.

Draco gave him one in return. How dare he speak to a prince like that! Honestly, where was the respect? If Draco were actually a prince, he'd have the man punished for his insolence.

As it were, Draco decided he may as well see how long this madness would endure. Surely not everyone would be fooled into thinking he was royalty?

~

Everyone thought he was royalty. As he was ushered out of the limo and into Buckingham Palace - Buckingham Palace! - everyone they passed bowed or curtsied or inclined their heads in acknowledgment. Not a single one pointed out the simple fact that he was not the prince, much to his growing unease.

They were headed somewhere specific. Walters led him down what seemed like a million different corridors - even growing up in the Manor, this felt a bit excessive - and honestly, Draco thought he might be trying to show off his knowledge of the palace's interior. Perhaps Draco's indifference had annoyed him.

After what seemed like at least an hour of wandering the enormous estate, they finally reached a set of gilded double doors. Walters stopped and gestured for him to continue alone. "His Majesty will be waiting for you inside. If I may offer a bit of advice," Walters leaned in close, "try not to anger him as usual. He's been in a right mood since you left."

Walters wished him luck and left him to the lion's den. Or, perhaps, a more apt expression would be that he had fallen into a pit of snakes.

Draco took a deep breath. Facing his father - real or scarily accurate alternate version of him - would always be an ordeal. If this man were anything like Lucius, as he seemed to be thus far, Draco was in for one hell of a tongue-lashing.

Or maybe someone would finally realize the truth. If the king did not recognize the difference now, Draco would inform him firmly that sorry, but he was not his wayward son, and he would quite like to be getting back to his flat right about then.

Draco pushed open the heavy doors.

A harsh figure stood in front of a large window, carving a severe silhouette from the weak light streaming in. Though his back was turned, Draco saw his father in the unnatural stiffness of his posture, the hands clasped behind his back, and the familiar white-blond hair. He knew, even before the king turned around, that this man was somehow, impossibly, Lucius Malfoy, even with the unfamiliar, yet somehow strangely fitting, crown upon his head.

Emotion welled up in Draco, and he tamped it down. He had not seen his father in months, not since his self-induced estrangement from him the last time they had talked. That had been a terrific fight, and the hardest one of his life, even considering the Battle of Hogwarts. They had both walked away furious, Draco's mother left as the hopeless intermediary between them.

Blue eyes cut into him from across the room, one of the few features he had not inherited from his father. The scornful, disappointed look was also one of the few expressions he had yet to master, though he had seen it often enough.

Draco felt about twelve again under the powerful, scrutinizing gaze of the Malfoy patriarch, as he always had.

"There you are. I'd begun to think you were finally clever enough to outsmart our security, but evidently, I was wrong." Draco winced internally. His father was as sharp-tongued as ever, and just as quick to criticize Draco.

No. This was not his father. This was some other man. The king, if everyone else was to be believed. But somehow, the king looked exactly like his father and had acknowledged Draco as the prince.

Draco was beginning to feel as if he'd gone stark, raving mad. And maybe he had, sitting in his flat for days on end without even the slightest bit of company. He couldn't reconcile the man before him with his father - it was like...well, like Potter. Draco couldn't see the man in the newspapers as the same boy who had refused his friendship and nearly killed him in Hogwarts. His eyes told him they were the same, but his mind insisted they were not.

Draco fortified his mental barriers, adopting a cold, indifferent mask to avoid revealing emotion. Once he got through this encounter with Lucius, he could feasibly escape to figure out what the hell was going on.

"My apologies, father. Next time I'll be sure to run away with greater success," Draco drawled, unable to bring himself to regret his impertinence.

His father's eyes flashed with a fury that had been too long suppressed. "You forewent any right you had to talk back to me the moment you pulled your little stunt. You will marry the woman I choose for you, and you will ascend the throne upon my retirement. It is your duty and your future, and you are lucky to have it. You will not act like a spoilt child who cannot appreciate what they already have. You-"

"My love?" His mother's voice interrupted his father's tirade, and Draco turned around. "I heard-" she stopped when she saw her son.

His mother was as ethereally beautiful as ever, golden hair flowing down her back. Two braids encircled her head, to which a small golden circlet was pinned. She wore an elegant day dress in dark green, which had the effect of making her look incredibly young. He could not look away.

She glided to Draco and embraced him, holding him like he was still a small child. "My darling, you mustn't do that again," she chided him gently. "You cannot imagine how much I despaired of your absence."

"Narcissa-" his father began, but his mother cut him off once more. "Not now, my love," she insisted. "Draco will do as he must, as he always has done. He will not let our family down, and you know that. You can hardly blame him for needing to get away after how abruptly you revealed the news to him." His mother did not break eye contact with Draco as she said this as if she were trying to tell him something with her gaze alone. Whatever the message was, Draco did not receive it. He had never been apt at reading his mother's facial expressions, no matter how untrue it was for the reverse.

"Draco?" Lucius cut in. "Are your mother's assurances accurate?"

They weren't. Yet, Draco could never refuse his mother, not when she spoke with such faith. Without looking back, Draco nodded, not quite believing what he was about to agree to. "Of course. Am I dismissed, father? Or have you other need of me?"

"No, you may go," his father replied, sounding pleased, and Draco extricated himself from his mother, striding out into the corridor.


End file.
